Masquerade
by kbrand5333
Summary: Morgana makes her brand new servant attend Camelot's Maquerade ball. On her first day there. A bit AU.


"Oh, no, I couldn't…" Guinevere protests.

"You can and you will. Come on, it'll be fun!" Morgana argues.

"But…"

"No buts. You realize you have to do what I say, don't you? It's part of the job."

"Yes, my lady," Gwen bows her head, looking at her feet.

"And I want you to come to the masquerade tonight."

"Very well."

"Oh, now, don't be like that. It will be deliciously naughty."

"That's what worries me. It's my first day! No one even knows who I am! My lady," she adds, remembering herself again.

"And that's precisely why this will work." Morgana walks over to her new maidservant, placing her hand on her shoulder reassuringly. "Gwen, the fact that no one knows who you are is exactly why I want you to come. If everyone knew you, it wouldn't work at all. You're far too…" she pauses, studying the girl, looking for the word, "_unique_ to be unrecognizable, even with a mask on."

"Unique?" Gwen asks.

"Well, look at you. No one in Camelot looks like you, with your dark curls and cinnamon skin. Sure, there are people of all kinds roaming the kingdom, but I've never seen another like you."

Gwen stares.

"I mean that as a compliment, Gwen."

"Thank you, my lady," she says, bowing her head, blushing in the face of Camelot's most famed beauty complimenting her in such a way. _I am nothing special,_ she almost says, but holds her tongue.

"So you'll come."

"If you wish, my lady."

"I do. And you're not allowed to be a wallflower, either," she says, as if reading the girl's thoughts.

"I…"

"Don't even bother, I could see it on your face," Morgana smiles at her, finding she likes her new maid quite a lot. _She's charming. Sweet. She'll make someone a good wife one day._ "Gwen, you'd be surprised how anonymity can make you braver than you would normally be."

"I have nothing to wear, my lady."

"Psshh," she blows, dismissing that thought. "You will wear something of mine. And no arguments!"

Gwen closes her mouth.

"I have two dresses ordered as possibilities for this evening, and they arrived late this morning. One of them is no good for me at all, but I think it will work quite nicely for you," she says, indicating her wardrobe. "Go see."

Gwen walks to the wardrobe and opens it to find two dresses together off to one side, separated from the multitudes of other dresses already there. She pulls them out. One is a deep green, like an emerald at night, silk, with gold accents. The other is a soft peachy-pink color, also silk, with silver. She withdraws the peach one, holding it up.

"So you do have an eye," Morgana appraises, nodding and smiling. "I don't know why the seamstress thought that color would favor me," she shakes her head. "But when I met you after lunch, something clicked in my brain," she says, smiling again.

"It is beautiful, my lady. I have never worn something so fine."

"Do you see the mask that goes with it? It's on the shelf."

She reaches up and pulls it down. It is peach and pearl white, with silver accents and dyed peach feathers. Impulsively, she holds it to her face and looks at Morgana.

She claps and laughs delightedly. "Perfect!" she declares, and Gwen allows herself a smile before she lowers the mask, suddenly bashful again.

"All right, come back in two hours' time and we'll start getting ready."

"Yes, my lady," Gwen curtseys briefly and turns to leave, grateful for the respite, but dreading what is to come.

xXx

The masquerade ball has already begun, and Guinevere is fretting. Morgana is lounging about her apartments, taking her time.

"I never appear until after the party has begun, Gwen," Morgana tells her. "If I was there on time, no one would see me arrive."

"Yes, my lady."

Morgana turns. "Gwen. Hands down, don't pick at your cuticles. Head high, shoulders back. If you carry yourself like you shouldn't be there, people will know that you shouldn't be there."

"But I _shouldn't_ be there."

"Stop being difficult. Put your mask on and I'll help you with your hair."

She does as she is told, affixing the mask in place, and Morgana arranges her curls to cascade over her shoulders becomingly. Gwen was smart enough to twist the top and sides back, away from her face, to allow for the mask, and Morgana has even helped her apply a few cosmetics, tinting her lips and darkening her already long lashes.

"Very nice," Morgana appraises. _Almost too much so,_ she thinks, but it is too late to turn back now. "Can you help me with mine now?"

"Of course. I can see quite well, actually."

Morgana sits at her vanity and Gwen places her mask on her and fixes her hair, which she has painstakingly curled into ringlets that flow down over her shoulder in ebony coils.

"You are beautiful, my lady."

"Thank you, Gwen. Let's go."

Gwen takes a deep breath. "Very well."

As they walk to the hall, Morgana turns to Gwen. "Two things."

"Yes, my lady?"

"Your name is Esmeralda."

"Um…"

"Esmeralda."

Gwen nods.

"And second: stay away from the king. He'll ask too many questions."

_The king. Gods give me strength._ "Yes, my lady."

xXx

They've orchestrated their entrance so that Morgana will be taking all the attention while Gwen slips quietly in. No one seems to notice her sliding in and creeping along the wall. At least she thinks no one has noticed.

"Merlin, who is that?" Prince Arthur asks his manservant.

"I don't know, Sire," Merlin answers, peering. _It looks an awful lot like Morgana's new maid,_ he thinks, but he keeps his thoughts to himself, for if he is wrong, he would be insulting a noble.

"I'm going over," he says, downing his goblet.

The prince is dressed all in rich blues and greens, a departure from the usual reds he tends to favor. He has a deep peacock blue mask on with gold rope detail and an all-over dusting of gold. Merlin had called him a strutting peacock, and as he watches his master stride across the hall to the mysterious lady, he is convinced that he was indeed correct.

The minstrels begin to play, and Arthur approaches Guinevere.

"Excuse me my lady, but would you favor me with a dance?"

Gwen jumps as a handsome man with golden hair addresses her. He chuckles, holding his hand out to her.

"Forgive me, my lord, you startled me," she answers, eyes quickly scanning the room for Morgana. She sees her far on the other side, engaging the king in conversation. Or flattery.

"Dance?" he asks again, now reaching for her hand.

"Yes, thank you," she says, attempting to appear calm, though her heart is threatening to thump its way out of her chest.

The touch of his hand does nothing to soothe the panicked organ, and Gwen is sure that he can even see her heartbeat; the dress is certainly cut low enough.

"You are new in Camelot," he says as they begin the steps of the dance. Fortunately it is one that Gwen knows.

"Yes. Just arrived, in fact," she answers. _Be as vague as you can,_ Morgana had advised.

"Will you do me the honor of telling me your name?"

"Isn't the point of a masquerade to be anonymous?" she asks, and immediately wishes she could snatch the words back into her mouth. _Impertinent, Gwen._

Arthur just laughs, though, and she tries to feel relieved. "Good point," he says, but next opportunity, during a step where he pulls her in close, he mutters, "I will find out your name."

His voice rumbling low in her ear makes her feel inexplicably warm all over, but all she can do is answer, "Oh?" just before she spins away from him.

Back and forth, near and far, and every time she is near, he is speaking words in her ear. He finds he is enjoying the lovely pinkish flush creeping over her tawny skin that deepens with each comment.

"I'm very determined."

"I will start guessing, you know."

"I will ask everyone in the kingdom who you are."

"I can be very persuasive." This last whispered so close that she can feel his lips brush her ear and she gasps before she can help herself.

The song ends, and Gwen doesn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. She curtseys as regally as she can and speeds away into the crowd, leaving Arthur standing there dumbfounded.

_I have to find out who she is. There is something about her. Her smell, her hair, her skin, her lips… oh, her lips. I've never seen lips so beautiful before._

"Arthur," Merlin calls to him. The minstrels have started to play again and Arthur is standing in the middle of the floor, in everyone's way, with no partner.

He blinks, waking from his daydream, and walks back over to Merlin, embarrassed.

"So who is she?" Merlin asks, handing him his goblet.

"She wouldn't tell me," he pouts, taking the cup and drinking, eyes scanning the room for her. "And now she's disappeared."

"She can't have gone far, my lord."

"Find out who she is," Arthur commands, handing his goblet back to Merlin and heading off again, looking for her.

Gwen has stepped out of the hall for a moment to collect herself. _I shouldn't be in there. Only as a servant. I should be serving, not dancing in this silly costume. This beautiful gown that is much too fine for me._

"Gwen?" a soft voice calls and she nearly faints from surprise and fear.

She peeks in the direction of the voice, petrified. _It's Merlin, thank goodness._

One of the only people she's met that day has been Merlin, who, despite being the prince's trusted personal manservant, is a sweet and trustworthy young man, and they struck up an immediate friendship.

"Merlin," she whispers, and he slips over to her.

"What are you doing?" he asks in a panicked whisper.

"Morgana thought it would be a bit of a lark for me to attend the masquerade. I couldn't say no."

Merlin sees the fear in her eyes and immediately feels for the girl, being no stranger to the whims of the nobility himself.

"I won't say anything," he promises. _And I probably shouldn't say that the prince is smitten with you to the point of near-obsession, either._

"Thank you," she breathes, taking his hand in hers. Morgana had even given her a pair of long white silk gloves to wear to disguise her servant's hands.

"Why are you hiding out here?"

"Because I panicked."

"You should go back in. Morgana will notice if you're missing," he cautions.

"Goodness, you're right."

"Go. I'll hang back a moment or two before going back in myself."

"Thank you, Merlin," she squeezes his hand, takes a deep breath, and re-enters. Immediately a servant offers her a goblet. _Why not?_ she thinks, and takes it.

She walks around the perimeter, careful to keep an eye on King Uther's whereabouts. Fortunately, his costume is such that it is still clear who is king. Morgana catches her eye from where she is spinning around the dance floor with a tall man with longish medium brown curly hair, and waves. Gwen weakly waves back, and as she moves again, she sees her admirer approaching her.

_He's back._

She pretends to see something that takes her interest, and changes direction, cutting across the far end of the room. When she is brave enough to look back, her mystery man in blue is chatting with the king.

_That was a close one._

"Esmeralda," a familiar voice says close by, and Gwen turns.

"My lady, this is too stressful," she whispers to her mistress.

"You're doing fine, just relax."

"Um…"

"Yes?"

"There is a young man who seems… interested in me, my lady. I don't know what to do."

"String him along as far as you dare," she says with a devilish smirk.

"My lady!" Gwen exclaims quietly, shocked.

Morgana laughs. "Who is it?"

"I don't know."

"Did you tell him your name was Esmeralda?"

"I did not tell him my name at all, though he did ask."

"Even better," Morgana smiles.

"But now he is on a mission to find me out, it seems," Gwen says, looking furtively about again. She sees him coming. "He's coming this way now, in fact. Please excuse me," she says hurriedly and floats quickly away.

_She certainly is graceful for a serving girl. Carries herself well._ Morgana looks to see if she can discern the identity of Gwen's admirer. She looks and sees three different men walking towards her. _One is clearly Arthur. I don't recognize the second right now, and the third is one of the knights. Bedivere, perhaps?_

"My lady, would you honor me?" a voice asks Morgana, and she turns her attention away and smiles at the suitor.

"Of course."

xXx

"You've been avoiding me."

_That voice again. That honeyed voice, deep and sweet; I just want it to speak words of love in my ears for hours and hours…_

"My lord?" Gwen turns around, caught on a balcony, alone. _Alone._

"You've been avoiding me, my lady." He advances slowly. "Why? I mean you no harm. I only wish to know who you are."

"I just needed some air," she says, but she suddenly discovers that she must have used it all up already.

"Air," he nods, humoring her. "Right."

He is right in front of her now, looming over her, but not in a menacing way. She can smell the soft woodsy smell of him, of smoke from the torches on the walls and the wine that has passed his lips. It is undeniably masculine, very intriguing, and nearly irresistible.

Arthur's hand comes up and he touches her jawline with one finger, tracing the line of it to her chin. "Please," he says, his voice nearly a whisper, "tell me your name."

With that, he leans down and gives her the most fleeting of kisses, his lips brushing hers like a sigh. Gwen's eyelids flutter and she feels a curious gentle burn in the pit of her stomach, like she is slowly falling.

"Esmeralda," she has the presence of mind to remember her pseudonym, at least, but her voice is a whisper.

"Esmeralda," he repeats, and suddenly she wishes that it really was her name. The way he says it sounds like a delicious kiss.

She stares up into his eyes, fascinated by the starburst striations of cornflower blue and stormcloud grey that make up his irises.

"Where have you come to me – I mean, us, Camelot – from?"

_Oh, no. We didn't discuss that detail._ Improvising, Guinevere lifts up on tiptoe and presses her lips to his, softly but persuasively. _I didn't realize how hungry I was for more of his kisses until just now._

Arthur groans low in the back of his throat and brings his arms around her waist, pulling her close into his embrace. He breaks the kiss for just a moment, pausing to gaze down at her honey-brown eyes with their long sooty lashes, framed by the beautiful mask, and returns his lips to hers, parted this time, coaxing hers apart with his tongue.

She whimpers quietly, almost kitten-like, and meets his curious tongue with her own, winding her arms around his neck, tangling her fingers into the soft hair at the nape of his neck as he leans her back, dipping her, forcing her to hang on.

_She is delicious, like a soft, sweet, honeyed cake._ His lips leave hers and travel to her neck, leaving a heated trail in their wake.

Gwen gasps as a torrent of sensation courses through her, making her hot and weak and aching. _Aching for him. For more, far more than is allowable._

_Far more than is allowable._

That thought snaps Guinevere back to reality, and she places her hands on his shoulders, against his chest, pressing her palms gently but firmly.

"Oh…" he says, straightening back up, still holding her narrow waist lightly. "Forgive me, I got… carried away," he says, clearing his throat.

"I am sorry, my lord, I rather did as well, I fear," she says, her cheeks flushed.

A soft tapping noise and a politely cleared throat behind them saves her. _Thank you, Merlin._

Arthur turns. "Yes?" he says coolly, glaring at his servant through the holes in his mask.

"You are being asked for inside, my lord," Merlin says, biting back his smile.

"One moment," Arthur says, and turns back to Esmeralda/Guinevere.

She's gone.

xXx

"And where did you scurry off to last night, Gwen?" Morgana asks as Gwen attends her the next morning.

"I got tired and… a bit overwhelmed, I'm afraid, my lady," she admits.

"Overwhelmed?"

"Yes, my lady," she says, and her blush is not lost on Morgana.

"Ah, so your admirer got a little overwhelming, then?"

"You might say that."

There is a knock at Morgana's chamber doors. "Come in," she calls, turning at her vanity to see who is disturbing her this early.

"Ah, Arthur, what can I do for you this morning?" Morgana asks, standing, and Gwen goes to finish making her bed and gather her laundry.

"I was just curious to see how you were faring this morning. You were at the masquerade quite late last night, you know. And I was also wondering if you knew who…" he trails off, noticing Morgana's maid. "Did you get a new maidservant?"

"Yes," Morgana says, holding her hand out towards Gwen. "This is Guinevere. She started yesterday. Gwen, this is Prince Arthur of Camelot."

Gwen curtseys. "My lord, it is an honor to meet you," she says and when she lifts her face they both have to contain their surprised gasps.

"Guinevere," he says, nodding slowly. His eyes lock with hers momentarily before dropping to her lips.

_It's him. I know those eyes, those lips, that jaw. That voice._

_It's her. I would know those lips, that skin, that hair anywhere._

"I am just fine this morning, Arthur. I'm sorry if that disappoints you," she smirks at him.

"Well, I shall just have to find another opportunity to appreciate your misery," he shrugs, winking. He spares Gwen one last puzzled glance and sweeps from the room, calling, "See you at breakfast," over his shoulder.

Morgana waves her hand dismissively at him. She turns to Gwen. "So that was the famous Prince Arthur. He's an arrogant prat most of the time, but occasionally he is tolerable."

"Yes, my lady," Gwen says obediently, keeping her face hidden.

"I think most of the kingdom expects us to marry one day," she says, pulling a brush through her long hair.

"Oh?"

"But I don't think that will happen," she adds. "Not if I have any say. He's too much… too much like a brother to me. The idea of marriage to him?" She shudders, indicating her repulsion.

"If you'll excuse me, my lady, I'll take these to the laundry," Gwen says, struggling to keep her expression neutral amidst thoughts of her mysterious admirer being the prince and the possibility of Morgana possibly marrying him roiling in her brain like a boiling pot. _Not that you'd ever get a chance at a prince, foolish girl. Wipe that thought from your traitorous brain right now._

"Of course. And Gwen," Morgana turns, "last night was fun, wasn't it?" She grins a wicked grin.

"In a way, it was, my lady. But never again, I'm afraid," she answers with a curtsey and turns to leave.

xXx

In the corridor, Guinevere pauses, alone, basket on her hip. She heaves a great sigh, closes her eyes a moment, and attempts to clear her head. Then, squaring her shoulders, she heads down the corridor, towards the laundry.

"Esmeralda," a familiar voice says plainly, stopping her in her tracks.

"I'm sorry, I…" she starts, not turning toward the voice.

"I like your real name better." His voice is closer now. "Guinevere," he says it, and she nearly drops her basket.

"Lady Morgana made me come, I didn't want to…" she tries again.

"I don't care."

Gwen finds herself gently pulled into a secluded alcove and her basket removed from her hands. It lands with a crackly thump on the stone floor when he drops it.

"My lord…" she starts, but trails off, not knowing what to say, her mind empty and her voice failing as his large warm hands gently circle her waist.

"That was very dangerous of Lady Morgana, wasn't it?" he says quietly, pulling her closer, his eyes soft, his lips looking even softer.

"My lord?"

"Throwing her brand new maidservant to the wolves of nobility," he says, lifting a hand to lift her chin, "risking discovery," he strokes her chin with a single finger, "your job," he cups her cheek with his palm, and her face turns into it automatically, unbidden by her, "and my sanity," he bends his head and kisses her, and his head swims with her scent, her lips, her very presence.

"You intoxicate me," he mutters against her lips, "I am powerless in your presence."

"We only just met," she manages, straining for sanity herself, her hands clutching his vest, "my lord."

"Arthur," he corrects before pushing the kiss further, deeper, giving in to his most base need to explore the interior of her mouth a second time, just to see if his memory had been playing tricks on him.

It hadn't.

_She is a ripe strawberry, sweet and succulent._

"Arthur," she repeats, pulling her lips away.

"Yes," he answers, loving the sound of his name on her lips. Thinking she's saying his name out of passion, he returns his lips to hers.

"No," she says, stopping him. "This isn't right." _Yes, it is. Nothing has ever felt more right._

"Yes, it is," he says, "Nothing has ever felt more right."

She cannot contain her gasp.

"What is it, my beauty?"

"We shouldn't. I… I agree, it _feels_ right, somehow, but it cannot be."

"You let me worry about that," he says confidently, kissing her cheek, her forehead.

"What if someone sees?"

"They won't."

_He is arrogant indeed,_ she thinks, but somehow that just makes him more appealing. She sighs and drops her forehead to rest on his chest. "This is madness."

"I know."

She lifts her head. "You do? And you aren't worried?"

"I can be very persuasive," he says, grinning at her before capturing her lips with his own once more.


End file.
